


two thousand years in the cosmos

by despairingdignities



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, fulfilling my promise to write something fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-28
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2018-12-21 03:03:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11934978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/despairingdignities/pseuds/despairingdignities
Summary: The Doctor has nightmares and the Master confesses a truth she's not sure she already knew.





	two thousand years in the cosmos

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Resa_Saso](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Resa_Saso/gifts).



> Simm!Master and Thirteen getting cute and cuddly in Resa's fic inspired me so here's my take on it! I hope she's proud that I wrote something somewhat fluffy. I wrote it on a whim so I'm not sure if it's good but here it is anyway.

Someone’s name – an old name, a name she hasn’t used since before he got here – tears itself free from her throat in a scream, loud and hoarse and painful. Even more so, it is painful when she realises the name she has just screamed is the one she been swallowing for so long, remembers who it belongs to. _Belonged_ to. Past tense can be a cruel thing to get accustomed to using. The Doctor only realises she’s said it when his silhouette appears in the doorway and slides inside, eyebrows furrowed, complemented with the concerned expression playing across his mouth.

“Who’s ‘Missy’?” he asks, curiously, tugging at the suit he shouldn’t be clothed in so late at night, that begs the question of what he had been doing before she’d screamed bloody murder. The Doctor can see his eyes, shining in the dark, and she smiles shakily at the sight of worry in them mingling with the curiosity. “I’ve never met a Missy.”

The Doctor’s breathing is laboured and she’s soaked in sweat, so it takes her a few seconds to come up with an adequate explanation, other than the truth she can’t reveal. “You wouldn’t know her,” she sighs, “quite the character, actually. Travelled with her for a bit. It – as you can tell – didn’t end happily.”

It’s a half-lie but the guilt contorting her lips was genuine, as were the tears stinging persistently at her eyes; she raises her hand to wipe furiously at them. She shouldn’t be crying in front of him.

The Master sees the state of her and drops it, rushing over to her bedside. “Is it the nightmares, Doctor?”

She nods.

“I promised to help her,” she choked out, rolling over so he can’t see further tears. “I promised to help her and I _failed,_ Koschei! I’m not supposed to fail, I’m supposed to win.”

He sits on the edge of the bed, and rubs her back until the sobs subside. “Everyone fails sometimes, Doctor. You can’t carry every single failure you’ve ever had with you, or it’ll kill you in the end. What if I carried every time you’ve ever screwed up my genius plans around with me? Would I have the confidence to go on, hmm?”

The joke gets the response he was hoping for. A weak laugh, but a laugh all the same.

“You’re not supposed to be nice to me,” she mumbles, voice muffled by the pillow. “Why are you being nice to me?”

She seems satisfied that the tears are finished now, and turns back over, blonde hair all ruffled and in her eyes, watching him curiously as she waits for him to answer. Typical Doctor – questions, questions, questions.

“Because I love you, _obviously_ ,” he replies, rolling his eyes. “And here I was thinking that not tying you to a wheelchair and stealing the TARDIS was the best way to profess my love to you!”

Her smile widens. “And you call me a sentimental idiot,” she says tiredly, but the smile slides off her face slowly. “How long until you get bored? You know, like you did with Lucy.”

“You _are_ a sentimental idiot,” he defends himself, before his face falls. “Oh, Thete. Don’t think things like that – I never loved Lucy, and even if I had, it would have been nothing like the love I have for you. _Two thousand years,_ Thete? Do you think any _human_ could matter more to me than _two thousand years_?”

The Doctor seems confused. “But, I thought…”

“You thought that because you were a woman that my love for you would change?”

The blonde nods and he feels something in his hearts. He can’t tell what it is, but it’s distinct and heavy and it’s _something_.

Pulling her into a hug, he rests her head against his chest, his hand running through her hair in what he hopes is comfort. “My dear Doctor. I’ve always said that a cosmos without you wouldn’t even be worth thinking about. What would I be? What would we be without each other?”

“I don’t know,” she replies quietly, “and I don’t want to.”

That’s understandable, and the answer he’d expected. If it was necessary he knew she’d do it, but it’s not a thought she’s willing to entertain.

“I get the nightmares too,” he whispers as though it’s a secret, even though there’s no-one else in this otherwise empty TARDIS. (The Doctor thought that his old friend might be a bit much for the companions, and he thinks she’s right.) “Do you want me to stay here until you fall asleep?”

“I’d like that.”

That’s all she needed to say; he slides under the duvet still suited, and holds her close, willing the still-pounding heartbeat to calm. There’s a slight scent of something on her skin, maybe cinnamon, just a hint, and there’s something so very _Doctor_ about it that he smiles.

It’s been roughly five minutes when she speaks again, voice already heavy with sleep. “Koschei?”

“Theta?”

She leans a little further into him, resting her head on his shoulder, and her green eyes shine in the dark. “ _Actually_ , I think I’d like you to be here when I wake up, too.”


End file.
